Today, you’re back again, desire, suggesting
I should put on another of your fantastic garments.
I clothe myself in the forms of your desire, which is my own.
You know, you attract me, and you don’t let up:
concerts, exhibitions, books;
films, trips to the theatre…
We lose ourselves together in the heavens of your travels:
these garments of yours never end,
they sidle up to me with provocative games;
ever new, ever vintage,
like those of books, that open the gaze;
like the voice a kiss has, or betrayal,
that read me and kidnap me with words.
Now I don’t even take them off,
they dissolve on my skin,
flash in my face.
You, desire, who create and recreate me,
today I want to come home early.
My daughter too shapes herself in you:
joy of rebellion, splinters of longing…
explosions full of urgency
scatter living landscapes
but at the same time crush me.
Go on tempting me, then.
Inject me with tender passion!
Let my wings shoot fire!
Without love I wouldn’t be able to breathe.
Without you I would become
a lifeless corpse.
Translated by Anna Crowe